


"No Matter What Happens, I've Got Your Back."

by ohrabbitheart



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Deception, F/M, Other, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohrabbitheart/pseuds/ohrabbitheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be intimate, to be truly naked, one has to see beyond supple curves and creamy flesh. Beyond scarred skin and freckles and wounds and burns. Beyond the superficial. One must enter the soul. Know every weakness, fear, and point of pleasure. One must know the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"No Matter What Happens, I've Got Your Back."

If I’m being entirely honest, something about this mission seems off. I’d say it’s too simple, too straightforward, but that’s most certainly a given. The Barton-Romanoff team is equipped to handle ever-changing situations with an unmatched ease. That’s why they put us in the field, often together. This assignment is different, and I believe the deciding factors are the operatives themselves. Neither of us have been the same since New York, and a heaviness hangs between us. It lays thickly in the air and penetrates our lungs to the point of suffocation. Old memories have been dredged up like clay sediment from a boat’s propeller. Clint’s mental stability is in question, though he’s careful to hide it. We can joke and banter and push each other’s buttons all we want, but it doesn’t deny the fact that we’ve changed. Our dynamic is not the same. This mission will either destroy us or rebuild us from the ground up. I hope for the latter, but hope is a fool’s errand.

 I turn the faucet in the bathtub, watching absentmindedly as plumes of steam roll up into the air. The warmth opens my pores, and for the first time since I woke up in a cold sweat, I feel comforted. I strip while listening to Clint’s soft tenor travel from the bedroom. He’s muffled beneath the sound of running water, but it makes no difference. His voice is soothing, his quips a constant reminder that my life would be so much worse without him. Long, muscular legs edge over the side of acrylic and fiberglass to stand calf-deep in liquid heat. I lower myself with aching limbs just as Clint enters the room. Our demeanor never changes. He does not avert his eyes (though he also does not stare), and I do not feel the need to cover myself. There is no shame in a body. We both have seen plenty in our line of work. We’ve both gone to whatever lengths are necessary to gather the intel needed. We’ve both removed fabric to fix tattered flesh. There are many different definitions for intimacy and nudity in the world, but only one as far as a spy is concerned. To be intimate, to be truly naked, one has to see beyond supple curves and creamy flesh. Beyond scarred skin and freckles and wounds and burns. Beyond the superficial. One must enter the soul. Know every weakness, fear, and point of pleasure. One must know the truth.

Truth is a matter of circumstance. It isn’t all things to all people all the time. And neither am I. Except in the case of one man. I have been intimate with Clint Barton in every way but the physical, and that is something that paralyzes me with fear.

Clint approaches, his body angled slightly to perch on the side of the bathtub. That splash of cool water to his face seems to have brought him back to me for the time being. We lock eyes, blue on green, and my lips quirk into a trademark half-smile. It’s time to get serious. His left hand reaches for my chin, strong but gentle fingers holding my face steady as his other hand deftly works off yesterday’s smudged makeup. He is careful and precise, mimicking the same strokes and fluidity he would use if he were tending to any garnered abrasions. As he had the day he met me. As he has every day since. He is a gift. A fully human man with no extraordinary powers, and yet he wades into war without hesitation. He gives his all, his heart, to everything he does. And I know he would give it to me. The team sees it. Coulson, Fury, Stark, and Banner. Even Cap’s mind isn’t so clouded that he’d miss the obvious. But I refuse to take it. I cannot possess something so precious. I can’t be responsible.

I roll my head back to rest just above the water’s surface as Clint continues to ghost cotton over my skin. My eyes close, mind drifting to thoughts I’d rather push down into the farthest corners of my mind. A phone call in the ladies room during our layover in Paris. Director Fury’s name lighting up the LCD of my cell. Our conversation, clipped and short.

_“How is Barton?”_

_“He’s... fine. He’s stable.”_

_“I understand that, but if anything should change-”_

_“I said he’s himself.”_

_“I’m counting on you, Agent Romanoff. I know it’s a difficult call, but if something goes wrong, I need to know you can make the tough decision.”_

_“I know my orders.”_

Call ended. Duration: 20 seconds. I hacked my phone and deleted the evidence. I faced Clint right out the gate, entered the plane and placed my head on his strong shoulders the rest of the way to Kinshasa, refusing to acknowledge my part in all of this. Should it go south.

It will undoubtedly go south.

I force myself to stop thinking. To let it go. To believe in the fool’s errand of hope. My hand reaches up from the water to grasp Clint’s and hold him to me like a lifeline to my heart. A heart that is black and cold and unwilling to leave my chest and rest in anyone’s hands but my own. My eyes find his once again, and while his may contain confusion, mine contain desperation and intensity and fear and a multitude of other emotions I’m certain he won’t have time to identify before our objective this evening. And for that, I am grateful.

I ghost my fingertips over his, the palm of my hand making sure to keep his pressed lightly against my cheek.

“I need you to know that I’ve got your back. No matter what happens, Clint. I’ve got your back.”

It feels like a lie leaving ashes in my mouth.


End file.
